2006, here we come

Today is the day where more people than you knew existed emerge from their lives and party till midnight in one big universal consent to stay up late. (Where do they even find all those people to come outside on the streets of New York City and Chicago and do all that yelling?) I will be at Lauren's house in San Jose with my family and a bunch of other cool homeschoolers, but I'm also in St. Louis and Colorado Springs and Wisconsin, in spirit. Here's a toast to wild and crazy nights, hyperactivity, noise, and laughter. Let loose! Because tomorrow is the beginning of a whole new year. It's a new chance to start over and do everything right this time. It's your chance to make resolutions and have all the best intentions of following them. In reality, though, we know that like any battle, this coming year is going to be messy. It's going to be alternatively exciting, overwhelming, boring, painful, hillarious, scary, beautiful, and not to be underestimated. For me, and actually most of the people I know, it's a year of transition--graduation, moving to a new city, starting a new life, meeting new people...

All I can say at this point is Good Luck! We're all going to need it.

around town

Starbucks was busy and crowded this morning. I rode my bike there. Cars never look both ways before they cross the sidewalk. It turns out there are at least two Starbucks closer to our house than the one I went to. Good to finally get out of the house.

This morning at the Sunnyvale library, everybody seemed to be sleeping. Old people. Drowsing off in the middle of reading something. Some snoring. You'd think it would be more comfortable to sleep in your bed at home.

I saw a black squirrel.

When I got back I found out that my dog had a stroke while I was gone. She is dying. She's been with us for 13 years. She's spending her day on Valium, walking around nervously. It hurts to watch her suffer.

my sister

I would like to dedicate this entry to a very important member of my family who I often, unfortunately, overlook: my sister, April. I am always mentioning my brother with regards to some activity that we did together or some accomplishment of his that we’re proud of, and sometimes people don’t even realize that I have a sister. I’m sorry that it has been that way, because she deserves to be given more consideration. As her sister, I should be one of the first ones taking that step. You see, my sister is autistic.

Autism isn’t very well defined. It’s just a kind of pervasive developmental disorder, meaning that most of the abilities that the rest of us take for granted she simply doesn’t have. She can’t read people’s faces to know what they are feeling, she can’t read social signals to know what is appropriate behavior, everything comes to her slowly, anything involving abstract thinking, and even speech is still hard.

It’s been a difficult thing to grow up with—difficult for her because she’s had to overcome so many obstacles (though she’s never demonstrated much self-awareness of the problem), difficult for my parents who have struggled heroically to do everything they can for her and never give up hope, and difficult for me and Noah to accept her and not feel embarrassed by her (we don’t always succeed). We’ve all had our moments of despair, when we cry, “Why can’t she just be normal?!” Most of the time I don’t want to deal with it and I just ignore her. I don’t mention her to people because I don’t want to have to explain every time why something she did may seem insignificant but is actually a big accomplishment for her. Sometimes I don’t even understand. It makes life easier, but I’m not proud of it. She’s my sister. We share… what? 50% of our genes? We grew up in the same family and thus share a lot of memories. I understand her better than most people in the world—when she finally started talking at age four, our own parents had to struggle to understand what words she was trying to form, but I knew exactly what each one meant and could always, always translate. We played together when we were little. Why can’t I, now, find the patience to love her like a sister?

There are those times when something peeks up and reminds me that there’s more to who she is than just the autism. Sometimes what I see beneath there is a personality that I know is very similar to my own, except with traits that are brutally amplified. I see ME in there, which is sometimes frightening, but also really neat. She is my sister. Isn’t is it only natural that we share some personality traits? It means there’s a level that I can relate to her on. It means there are some things I can predict about how she is going to grow up, and from personal experience, give her advice.

Last night I had one of the best conversations that I’ve ever had with her. It was like an awakening pinch. When I first got here, two weeks ago, Noah warned me, “April has developed a sense of humor,” which has been proven, to my delight, several times, but I knew that along with that humor must have come something else. She is growing up, slowly but surely. In the past, it has been frustrating to try to talk with her because she wasn’t able to follow any rational line of reasoning and would rarely be able to understand what you said. She would talk about whatever was in her head regardless of what you wanted to talk about. But it is clear that she has been doing a lot of thinking about life, because there was a beautiful amount of flow and connection happening last night. We talked about real things, shared things about our lives, bonded like any two girls would, and I was able to gain insights into her psyche. I had given her a coupon for Christmas promising to take her out to a movie of her choice and then ice cream afterward, which she had received more enthusiatically than I had expected. We’re going today, so last night she wanted to finalize what exactly we would be doing (we’re going to see Narnia and then go to the new gelato place that my family recently discovered). I asked if she had the book so I could try to finish reading it before we went. She was able to produce it and then asked me what was happening in the part I was currently at, recalling specific details of what happens in the story. Then we got to talking about the writing class she had taken this semester, and she showed me some of her essays, which I was quite impressed by. After that, we got a little more philosophical and discussed some of the ways in which she interprets things that happen in the world around her. She treated what I said very thoughtfully and expressed a desire to consult with me about things more often, wishing desperately that I wouldn’t leave again to go back to school.

My sister is valiently optimistic and holds a romantically idealized view of the world and of our family. She doesn’t understand much about how the world works but fills gaps with magic and imagination. She is deperately sensitive and sentimental. She gets very emotionally involved in things: movies (sometimes to the point where she feels she needs to run out of the room so she doesn’t have to watch), books, tv, new friends, family, opening presents. You guys, if you think I’m hyper and enthusiastic about little things… I simply pale in comparison. She is a deeply good person, always generous, always positive (even if things still tip her off occasionally). I’m learning that I really appreciate that side of her. These are traits that tend to get beat out of you by the time you’re her age—fifteen—or at least you learn to keep them hidden for your own protection. But because she isn’t as aware of the subtle messages that people communicate about appropriate behavior and doesn’t understand how to be subtle herself, she wears her heart right out on her sleeve. She is open and fearless.

Now that's pretty special, isn't it?

chocolate bliss cookies

1 pkg (8 oz) semi sweet baking chocolate
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, softened
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup flour
1/4 tsp baking powder
2 cups nuts (or nut meal)
1 pkg (8 oz) semi sweet baking chocolate, coarsely chopped
(or 1 1/2 cups semi sweet chocolate chunks or chips)

Microwave chocolate squares in a large bowl on high for 2 mins.
Stir until melted and smooth.
Stir in sugar, butter, eggs, and vanilla with a wooden spoon until well blended.
Stir in flour and baking powder.
Stir in chopped chocolate and nuts.
Drop by scant 1/4 c. on ungreased cookie sheets.
Bake at 350 for 13-14 mins or until puffed and set.
Cool 1 min.
Remove from sheets.
Cool completely on wire racks.
Makes 18 large cookies.

the secret of life

I just had an earth-shattering realization that I need to share. It's a new way of explaining things, something that I have always felt on a certain level but have never been able to voice this clearly. Maybe you already know it, so it's not that big a deal to you. And maybe this is just specific to my own psychology. But maybe you'll get something out of this. Bear with me, because it doesn't sound earth-shattering when you first hear it. The real secrets in life never do, because they've been shouted at you over and over again using exactly the right words; you just never quite understand them until you're ready.

It started with me realizing how bored I've been all day and wondering why that is. There are a lot of obvious answers. I didn't go anywhere today or do anything of note. I'm inbetween semesters, so I don't have homework to worry about, but I also don't have friends to hang out with. Really, I don't have much of a purpose right now.

Ah ha, there it is. That's the key: that word purpose. I felt like I was onto something. In order not to be bored, I needed to find a purpose. But what exactly is the definition of "purpose" that I'm looking for? Reading that psychology book I'm working on is cool but doesn't really feel like "purpose." Practicing harp doesn't even feel like "purpose," nor does chatting with my family. In order for it to be the kind of purpose that makes me feel like my life has direction, it has to mean "responsibility to other people." Nothing metaphysical or any more profound than just responsibility to other people.
That's the secret to life. I had previously decided that the two main objectives in life were 1. love and 2. the knowledge and mastery of the beauty in the world. (The second one because I needed something to explain why it is that we are so curious about science and music and knowing how things work.) But now I know undeniably that that list is not complete until purpose is in there too.

It explains so many things. It explains why rehearsing and performing for opera is more satisfying than practicing alone. It explains why the idea of recording for movie soundtracks sounds worlds more exciting to me than recording audition tapes. It explains why I had so much fun helping to put on the homeschooling conference when I was in highschool and why my mom is so heavily involved in it. It explains why people like volunteering. It explains why I love playing team sports more than jogging alone. It explains why I have been so open to being emotionally supportive of people, even though it hurts sometimes.

Not only does purpose mean responsibility to other people, but the more people you have a responsibility to, the more ridiculously exciting it is. I have always had a passion for learning about what goes on behind the scenes in making a movie. I love watching special features on DVDs, especially Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean. I am completely enchanted by the idea of being involved in such an epic process. It's because there are so very many people working toward one goal, which then almost everyone in the country rushes out to see. That is an unfathomable amount of people to be responsible to. You almost have to be a super-hero.

You can't have a good story unless the characters have some degree of purpose. The ambitious ones are written about people who are depended on by whole nations. I just started reading Christopher Paolini's Eldest, which is exactly that. Stories can act as a temporary substitute for purpose, inasmuch as you can live vicariously through the characters. And refering back to my previous entry, imagining yourself as a different person in a different world can provide fulfillment when you are a child with no responsibility toward anyone yet but who nonetheless seeks purpose like any adult. Childhood fantasies usually involve children who have some unrealistic level of responsibility: Harry Potter, Ender's Game, Mathilda, Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe.

So, it is purpose that we're eventually looking for as we enter the real world as fully matured adults. That's what jobs are, assignments of purpose. Suddenly this makes me feel better about being bored right now, having a better idea of what I'm aiming for in the future. I don't care about harp in particular, I just want purpose. Harp is a means of getting purpose. It is a valuable skill which people can make use of to entertain guests at a wedding reception, fill out an orchestra, color a movie soundtrack, or attract an audience to a hall. But I'd be equally happy finding purpose in, say, becoming a writer, like what I'm doing right here, or teaching, or raising a family.

I'd say that there are three basic modes of functioning: 1. taking care of yourself, 2. developing your abilities, and 3. fulfilling a purpose. The later is impossible if you don't do the first two, so they are a necessity, but are not in-and-of-themselves purpose. In order to be able to be a responsible member of an ensemble, I need to develop my harp skills, which consists of spending many hours alone in a practice room. If I know that my practicing is directly feeding the fulfillment of a purpose, then I am motivated to do it. As another example, in order to be emotionally supportive of people, I need to be emotionally strong myself and have a clear idea of what my morals and philosophy is.
The endings of semesters are overly stressful because they bring an overabundance of #3 and not enough time for #1 and #2 anymore. But breaks are boring because #3 drops out and there's too much of #1 and #2. It's unbalanced.
Life is like that on the whole. From the time you're born until you are done going to school, you're expected to be working really hard on #2, learning things and gaining skills, so that when you're all grown up you can devote yourself to #3. But it just doesn't work to do #2 on its own. I'm sure everyone is familiar with the feeling that practicing or reading non-fiction in its own is just not as satisfying as getting out there and making use of it. In an attempt to solve this problem for our youth, we have this whole contrived system of grades. Thus, as students, we find that we have a "responsibility" to our teachers and parents to turn in homework by the deadline and obtain A's. But we all know it's fake. That's why so many people rebel. The secret to real internal motivation is purpose. College is cool because you do start having some real responsibilities, but it's still unbalanced. Obtaining complete balance is my goal.

That's my revelation for the night. That's the secret of life.

the power of imagination

When I was a kid--and we're talking elementary school age here--waking up on Christmas morning was actually magical. We're talking actual, unearthly, shivers up your spine magic. In fact, that still ranks as the most fantastical and wonder-filled experience of my life, most likely never to be equaled. Does this ring a bell to anybody?

Back when I was new to the world, it all was a vast unknown. Because I didn't know all the rules yet, it felt like anything could happen. I had only had time to learn of a small fraction of what there was out there, so it was more common for things to happen that were completely beyond explanation: a shooting star, growing flowers, water flowing up into the yard from the sump pump, cardboard boxes that turned into miniature houses... magic. I came to expect things like that any time, which is an incredible state of mind to exist in. On top of that, imagination used to be so much more vivid and important. I used to be able to spin fairy tales around anything to give it extra color. It was so clear in my mind that it was as good as real. Our backyard really did used to be an enchanted kingdom. My little brother really could turn into a dog named Benji. I really did ride out a hurricane at sea on our couch cushions, with hammerhead sharks circling around the little boat threatening to eat us. I've been a slave whose sole purpose in life was to walk back and forth collecting rocks from the shore. I've been a telepathic alien living on a space ship. I've discovered the ruins of a scientist's lab and set out on a quest to discover what he was trying to hide. I've been an evil witch named Lorna who carries a blue wand and lives on an asteroid, plotting along with other evil witches and wizards. I've mixed plenty of potions. I've blown up bombs. I've met little people the size of my thumb. Those are memories that stay with me, as real or more real than any of my other memories from that age.
As a child, I had godlike powers to create whole worlds on a whim, exactly how I wanted to see them, to give them whatever rules I wanted, and make whatever happen that seemed the most exciting.

Santa Clause was an extra special case of imagination, because the grown-ups actually collaborated to reinforce the reality of it.
It's harder to pretend about anything now. In fact, it's pretty much impossible. Some people take classes on it--acting and creative writing, or whatever. But it'll never, ever be the same.

I used to live in an entirely different world then than I do now. I've solved and explained away most of the mysteries already. I have more responsibilities. I worry more. The real world has consumed me and my mind. It seems to be interesting enough in itself that it no longer needs embellishment. We don't play anymore!

Here's to little kids with vibrant, imaginative lives. May we be able to at least remember what it was like.

10 miles in 3 hours; out biking with noah

tired wet soaked sore but yet happy

so many levels of meaning

The quote of the day is by Camus: "Don't wait for the Last Judgement. It takes place every day."

I like thinking about psychology. Not only do I like it, but it seems to be a pretty important part of life. The better you understand the people around you, not to mention yourself--what they feel, how they express it, and why they do what they do--the better you can relate to and interact with the world.

However, it's rarely easy.

There always seems to be at least two interpretations for things--one positive and one negative. People sometimes say one thing and mean another. Or they say what they mean but then do something different. Or they do what they mean and the results end up going in some unpredictable direction. Look, this is what I mean.

Is it real confidence or snooty defensiveness?
If you're butting heads with someone, is it because they are blind or just coming from a different point of view?
Was my semester just a bunch of erratic mood swings or a legitimately turbulent process of growth?
Is it genuine or just to get attention?
And the scariest of them all: is it love or manipulation?
To quote something that gets quoted too much: Can it be both?

You always have to wonder because you don't want to be tricked. But you also have to wonder how much of it is all in the way you phrase it. You can always say, "Oh, he's just trying to make himself look good so people will like him," or "She's just doing that to get attention." But how can you really blame anyone for that? Isn't that what we're all looking for in life anyway? We're all longing for love and acceptance.

Really, it's not people's motives that are the problem but the way they pursue them. Some people are good at it. Some people are tricky. Some people are very misguided. Some people are nasty. Some people are lazy. Some people have the best intentions but are clueless. Do some people even lose sight of that goal entirely and fight in the opposite direction?

However, this is not to say that any of it is relative. There is a right and a wrong. They are two different things. It's just that so often they get thrown together in a blender. Nobody is completely good or completely evil. You aren't, whether you like it or not, and so extend the same understanding to everyone else.
I know... it's hard.
And understanding is nice, but striving for perfection is better...

who am i?

Where do you even start to describe who you are? What does it even mean?
I could say I'm 5'10" with long brown hair and dark brown eyes, but that doesn't matter on the internet.
I could say I'm 21 years old and have lived most of my life in Champaign, IL. I'm a senior at the University of Illinois, studying harp performance. That's gets at the question a little better, but still doesn't say much.
Right now I'm rocking out to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and writing this entry from my dad's computer--a huge-ass machine which consumes half of my small bedroom at our house in California and makes more noise than I do. My parents moved here three years ago while I stayed at college in Illinois, but I come here for breaks.
I never believed in online journals. I keep a journal for myself, religiously, in good old-fashioned notebooks, using a pen or pencil. That's what I believe in--being able to mull over my thoughts and not worry about who my audience is. Some people write so that they can make their personal soap operas public. Then they're surprised when they get in trouble because people read their site whom they did not intend. I don't want to write a soap. But I am feeling attracted to the idea of having a published column, of sorts, to voice my thoughts.
Feel free to comment--communication is good. I don't ever want to be stuck in a bubble.
I am outgoing.
I notice details about things.
I am emotional.
I value seriousness.
I can get really hyper when I'm excited.
I have really good friends.
I love my family.
I get painfully frustrated sometimes.
I am viciously optimistic.
I can be nostalgic and sentimental.
I sometimes say things that probably shouldn't be said outloud.
It has been said that if I were one of those characters from "Beauty and the Beast" that gets turned into a household object, I would be a vacuum cleaner.
I don't undertsand why.
I'm trying to become fluent in French.
I like staying up late at night.
I used to love doing homework and now I can't stand it.
I fall in love with people whom I admire.
I even fall in love with the things I learn.
I've never had a boyfriend or ever kissed anybody.
I don't believe in God, but I see a lot of beauty and wonder in the natural world.

There are some clues that I've put together over the years about who I am. That's all I can tell you because I don't know if even I have a better idea of who I am than that. I'm still trying to figure it out.

I am in flux.

Why keep reading?
.
.
.
Because this is what you'll get: Life is a whirlwind, and we're all in it together.

welcome

Here I am suddenly, because I wanted to post a comment on Courtney's blog site. Maybe I like this better than Xanga. It has a more sleek look to it, more sophisticated. Maybe I'll keep it.